Musings on Getting Recognized In Real Life
If you have a blog, and tend to pepper it with photos of yourself making out with your husband-
AHEM. As I was saying, if you have a blog, and that blog serves as a thinly veiled excuse to post pictures in which you are mashing faces with your beloved, you may find that people you encounter on the street may recognize you. This is miraculous for lots of reasons, not the least of which is that they are able to tell that it’s you even without a Rand attached to your face.
It also means that they read your blog and despite this fact, they did not run swiftly in the other direction. Instead, they came up to talk to you. Which is sort of miraculous.
Because you always thought you were a bit of a goober. And, let’s be fair: you still might be. But the people who come up to you don’t seem to have any goober-like tendencies. More often than not, they are funny and outgoing and they smile a lot and sometimes they have cupcake recommendations.
I met Erica at the Cliffs of Moher.
Notice how we’re basically wearing the same thing, except that Erica is a summer’s day, and I look like a sartorial homage to a Seattle winter.
“Geraldine,” she said, “I read your blog.”
She was cool and confident and funny.
And she’s read my blog.
Which is crazy exciting.
This sort of thing happens to me far less than it happens to Rand (people stop him on the street in random cities and ask for a photo). But when it does happen, I’m left sort of in awe that there are real people out there – confident, cool, and by all appearances sane people – who take time to read the stuff I put on this site.
Sometimes when this happens, we take photos in which I looked happily demented. It’s usually my idea to do this.
But shouldn’t you know that they’re real people when you interact with them online?
You would think so, wouldn’t you? And while I treasure every kind email or tweet or positive comment I’ve received online, that persistent voice of insecurity that NEVER SHUTS UP reminds me that there is a non-zero chance that every single one of them is a very elaborate spam bot that’s just waiting for the perfect moment to pitch me hair removal products.
But even that eternal flame of self-doubt starts to dwindle when I come face-to-face with people who visit this blog. And I start to think that maybe there’s some value in all of this, and in how I spend my days. I start thinking that maybe I’m not such a goober.
No, wait. Nevermind. I totally am.
But I start thinking that maybe being a goober isn’t that bad.
Maybe it’s okay to spend your days taking selfies in which you mash lips with your sweetheart. Maybe it’s okay to be way, way too preoccupied with Jeff Goldblum.
Maybe, if that’s your legacy, it’s not the worst thing in the world. If you get more people to do this …
Our tribute to @everywhereist and @randfish❤️❤️❤️❤️pic.twitter.com/kaztMbCeOq
— Kimm Viebrock (@geekcoach) November 24, 2015
… maybe it’s all worth it.
